On the Edge of Tomorrow

As the day to leave for Texas Tech finally dawned, I felt a strange mix of dread and anticipation. I stared at the boxes piled up by the front door, a silent reminder of how much was about to change. In a way, I’d been counting down the days, eager to break away, to carve out a life that was all mine finally. But standing here, watching my dad’s Range Rover pull into the driveway through the side panel window, the feeling twisted into something heavier. A bittersweet ache settled into my chest, and I rubbed my clammy hands on my jeans, trying to shake off the nerves.

Dad loaded and secured my R1 as I watched. Then he ran toward the porch. I stepped back from the door, unsure if I was ready. Before I could decide, he bolted through the front door, almost bumping into me.

“Jord––” He stopped mid-sentence, looking surprised to find me standing there. “Oh, Jordan, I thought you were still upstairs.”

We both froze, caught in the awkwardness that seemed to settle between us whenever we weren’t discussing something practical. I knew that behind his glance, he was feeling it too—the weight of this moment, of all the ones we’d missed. Neither of us moved or spoke; we just stood there, looking at each other, and for a split second, time seemed to suspend itself. Memories rushed through my mind—flashes of childhood summers, long talks that never happened, things he’d missed but didn’t seem to realize he had. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, forcing myself to breathe.

Dad cleared his throat and gestured toward the boxes. “Let’s, uh, get the rest of these loaded up. We’ll need to put some in the back seat—the cargo area’s already packed.” He was trying to keep things light and moving.

I nodded, grateful for the break in the tension. Grabbing one of the boxes, I carried it outside, ignoring the tightness in my chest. I heard a crash behind me. Turning, I saw one of my motocross trophies lying on the floor beside a photo of me mid-air over the hill, frozen in that second of victory. Dad stooped to pick them up, momentarily lingering on the picture.

“I’m sorry I missed this,” he murmured, holding it out.

I swallowed, reaching for the photo but not meeting his eyes. “It’s…fine,” I managed, slipping the picture back into the box before walking through the door.

Halfway to the trailer, I stopped, glancing over my shoulder at him, then down at my R1 loaded up behind his Range Rover. “Dad, you know what—I think I’d rather not take the bike. It’ll be here when I come home.”

His face softened, and he gave me a small, relieved smile. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you didn’t take it, but it’s okay if you’d like to.”

“Nah,” I shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

Without another word, I turned to unstrap the bike, feeling the anticipation I’d felt just days ago—the thrill of riding the R1 through the Texas highways—flicker out. Maybe I’d been looking forward to the freedom, but it felt…hollow right now. I could sense my dad watching me, but I kept focused on the task, grateful for the distraction.

Once the bike was unloaded, I climbed into the passenger seat, settling into the tense silence that always seemed to wrap around us. As Dad started the engine, I tried to relax, to ease into the journey, but the silence only stretched, growing more uncomfortable with each mile. The vast emptiness of the Texas panhandle unfolded outside the window, the rolling hills and endless windmills a monotonous blur. Finally, as if sensing my restlessness, he cleared his throat, glancing over at me.

“Jordan,” he said, his voice hesitant.

“Yeah?” I replied, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

“Have I ever told you about…what happened between your uncle Matt and me?”

The question caught me off guard, and I turned to look at him thoroughly, the curiosity mixed with an odd sense of vulnerability. “No, not really. You just always said he doesn’t speak to you.”

Dad tightened his grip on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road. “It’s not quite like that. The truth is…I’m the one who hasn’t spoken to him. I just…couldn’t forgive him.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I know you’ve heard how your grandfather died.”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, glancing at the road ahead.

“There’s more to it,” he continued, his voice heavy with old, unspoken emotions. “After he died, your grandmother joined with two other women who lost their husbands that day in a civil suit against the oil company. The jury eventually found the company at fault and awarded the plaintiffs a sum of four million dollars each.”

My head snapped toward him, surprised. “That’s…a lot of money.”

He nodded slowly. “It was. More than enough to help us, but it never felt like it was enough…not for losing my father.”

We lapsed into silence again, the weight of his words settling between us. He glanced at me, his gaze softer, almost sad. “Your grandmother wanted Matt and me to use that money for college to escape the oil fields. She called them a death trap.”

“And you did,” I murmured, feeling a mixture of respect and curiosity toward this past version of him I’d never really known.

“I did,” he said, a small, proud smile breaking through his sadness. “After high school, I went to Rice University and then on to grad school in archaeology at UT.” His tone shifted, and a flicker of anger darkened his eyes. “But Matt…he went straight into the oil fields. Became a roughneck like our father, despite everything.”

I could feel the intensity in his voice, the unresolved tension radiating from him, and I twisted in my seat to face him fully. “You felt like he betrayed you,” I said, trying to piece together the fractured puzzle of their relationship.

He nodded, gripping the wheel tighter. “I couldn’t forgive him for it. It felt like a slap in the face like he was spitting on our father’s grave.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just watched the road ahead, absorbing everything he’d said, turning it over in my mind. After a while, he cleared his throat again, his tone softer.

“Don’t let something like that come between you and Bryce,” he said, his gaze still on the road. “Whatever’s going on between you two, don’t let it separate you.”

The reminder hit harder than I expected, stirring up memories of fights, misunderstandings, and words that couldn’t be erased. I wanted to ask him more, but something about how he looked, the lines etched deep into his face, made me hold back.

Eventually, the road widened as we passed a green sign that read, “Lubbock City Limits. “ The distant outline of Texas Tech came into view, the campus sprawling across the landscape, busy with the start of the semester. Relief flooded me as we pulled up in front of Stangel Hall, the brick building alive with parents and students bustling around.

Dad turned to me as we unloaded the last boxes, his expression softened by a rare, fatherly warmth. “Well, Son,” he said, touching my shoulder, “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

The tears prickled at the corners of my eyes again, but I didn’t try to stop them this time. I hugged him tightly, feeling the weight of everything unspoken between us. “I’ll think about calling Bryce,” I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze.

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You do that, okay? He’d love to hear from you.”

We stood there momentarily, not saying anything, just holding onto that last sliver of connection. Then, with a last wave, he jogged across the street to the parking lot, and I watched him climb into his car, feeling strangely hollow as he disappeared around the corner. A pang of loneliness twisted in my stomach.

“Excuse me, did he call you Jordan? Are you Jordan Davis?”

I turned to see a young man standing behind me, smiling. He was Japanese-American, with straight black hair and deep brown eyes. He was slightly shorter than me, lean, and athletic.

“Yeah,” I stammered. “That’s me.”

He extended a hand. “I’m Kent. Kentaro Abiko, your roommate.”

“Oh,” I said, taking his hand and shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Kent.”

He grinned a warm, friendly smile. “So, are you ready for the start of college life?”

I chuckled, feeling a hint of my earlier nervousness fade away. “I guess so.”

We strolled toward the dorm together, Kent telling me about a rush party at the SAE house that night. “Come on,” he urged. “Classes don’t start until Tuesday. There’s plenty of time to unpack.”

I smiled, appreciating Kent’s laid-back energy and already feeling a spark of relief. Maybe starting over wouldn’t be so hard with a roommate like him. As we walked, he noticed I was still staring back toward the parking lot where my dad had vanished.

“First time away from home?” Kent asked, his voice gentle but a little teasing.

“Yeah,” I replied, turning to him. “Guess it’s harder than I thought it’d be. Saying goodbye, I mean.”

He nodded knowingly. “I get that. I left my family in California. I was ready to go, but…it’s still a big step.” Kent’s face softened. “We’ll make it a good year, though. New friends, new experiences, all that.”

I felt a pang of envy for his confidence. “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound equally optimistic. “It’ll be good.”

We reached our cozy but cramped room on the fourth floor, which had twin beds on either side and a narrow walkway between them. Kent dropped his backpack on the floor, shrugging off his jacket and leaning against the wall, grinning like he’d been waiting forever. I looked around, taking in the unfamiliar space that would become home, my chest tightening as reality set in. This was my new life, a place untouched by the memories and mess I’d left behind.

“So, are you going to the rush party tonight?” Kent asked, flopping onto his bed and stretching out with the ease of someone who’d already claimed his territory.

I hesitated, thinking about the invite and wondering if I was ready to dive headfirst into college social life. But Kent’s easygoing attitude was infectious, and being alone in the room while he was out sounded like the last thing I wanted.

“Yeah,” I said finally, feeling slightly excited. “Why not?”

“Perfect!” Kent gave me a thumbs-up. “You’ll love it. It’s a great way to meet people and settle in.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just stay away from the jungle juice. It’s Everclear mixed with soda and food coloring. One glass, and you’re gone.”

I laughed, surprised by how quickly he put me at ease. “Got it. No jungle juice.”

Over the next few hours, I unpacked my things, trying to shake off the lingering tension from my goodbye to Dad. Memories flared up as I pulled out old photos, medals, and notebooks, but I forced myself to keep moving, stashing them away in drawers. This was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to leave behind everything that had weighed on me back home.

By evening, I’d settled into the space, if not exactly feeling at home. Kent was in high spirits, chatting about the Texas Tech campus, the best places to eat, the quirkiest professors, and his plans to join the school’s water polo club. His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon enough, I found myself relaxing, even laughing.

As we headed out, we could hear the faint thump of music echoing down the quad from the SAE house, where strings of lights and a haphazard bonfire lit up the yard. People crowded around, red Solo cups in hand, laughing and shouting as they greeted each other. The atmosphere was electrifying, a blend of freedom and recklessness that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming.

“Let’s get in there,” Kent said, nudging me.

Inside, the energy was even more intense. The room buzzed with laughter and conversation, and the music was so loud I could feel the bass thumping in my chest. Kent disappeared into the crowd, his hand raised in a wave, leaving me to find my bearings. I wandered around, trying to avoid looking too lost, until I saw a familiar face from orientation, a girl with long curly hair and a bright smile.

“Jordan, right?” she called over the music, waving me over. “I’m Anne! We met at the open campus day, remember?”

“Yeah! Hi, Anne,” I shouted, relieved to see someone I recognized.

She motioned for me to join her group, a lively circle of first-years all exchanging stories about their first day on campus. They welcomed me in with friendly nods, and soon, I was laughing and sharing stories, my earlier nerves dissolving into the noisy excitement of the room.

But amidst the laughter, I felt a vibration in my pocket—my phone buzzing with a call. I glanced at the screen: Dad. My heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, Anne, I’ll be right back,” I said, slipping out the front door to find a quieter spot.

The street was quiet compared to the house, and the cool night air was a welcome contrast to the heat of the party. I answered, trying to steady my voice.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Jordan.” His voice was unexpectedly emotional, almost relieved. “I just wanted to see how you were settling in.”

I glanced back at the house, where laughter and music spilled through the windows. “Good. …it’s a lot, but I’ll like it here.”

“That’s great to hear.” There was a pause on his end, and I could almost picture him back home, pacing in the living room or leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m glad you’re adjusting. I know it’s a big change.”

“It is,” I admitted, feeling surprisingly warm toward him. “But…thanks for driving me up. I know we don’t always…well, you know.”

He chuckled softly, the sound oddly comforting. “I know, Jordan. I hope this year is everything you want it to be.”

We lingered in silence, both grasping for words that seemed just out of reach. Finally, I decided to ask something on my mind since our conversation in the car.

“Hey, Dad, do you think…you’ll ever talk to Uncle Matt again?”

There was a long silence, and I thought maybe he’d hung up, but then he sighed. “I don’t know. It’s hard to let go of something that hurt you deeply, even if it happened long ago. But maybe you’re right…maybe I should try.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt a flicker of hope—a sense that maybe things didn’t have to stay fractured forever.

“Thanks, Dad. For…everything.”

“Of course, Jordan. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Night, Dad.”

I hung up and stared at my phone, feeling the weight of our conversation settle into me. This was a new start, a chance to build something of my own while still connected to where I’d come from. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and turned toward the house, my heart a little lighter.

I rejoined Anne and her friends back inside, quickly drawn back into the mix. We swapped stories about embarrassing high school moments, favorite movies, and future dreams. Anne even suggested we all go to Big Bend over fall break just to experience the vast Texas landscape. The more we talked, the more I felt a spark of something I had never felt—a sense of belonging and potential.

As the night wore on, I found myself laughing more freely, joining in on the games, and letting myself get swept up in the rush. At some point, Kent appeared beside me, clapping me on the shoulder.

“You’re settling in nicely!” he shouted over the music, grinning ear to ear.

“Thanks to you, man!” I shouted back, giving him a thumbs-up.

He laughed. “What are roommates for?”

By the time we left, the stars were scattered across the night sky, and I felt a pleasant buzz, not from the jungle juice but from the sense of freedom that had taken root in me. Kent and I walked back to the dorm in comfortable silence, the cool night air clearing our heads.

We both flopped onto our beds in our room, exhausted but content. Kent broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. “You ever think about how big this is, Jordan? Like, the start of something that could change us?”

I chuckled, closing my eyes. “Yeah, I think that all the time.”

“Well, here’s to a year of figuring out who we are,” he said, raising an imaginary glass.

“To a year of new beginnings,” I echoed, smiling into the darkness.

A quiet confidence settled over me as I stared up at the ceiling. I was sure that whatever happened, I was ready to face the unknown, make my own choices, and build something real. For the first time, I felt the promise of freedom, friendship, and finally coming into my own.

This was the beginning, and I couldn’t wait to see where it would take me.